The Tudgeman Channel
by KarasumaFirestorm
Summary: Larry Tudgeman. The man, the myth.


Disclaimer: no one mentioned belongs to me, I guarantee it. (Too bad, right?)  
  
Author's note: here's something I've been playing with awhile, I think it turned out okay. I'm working on a second chapter, but it's not easy trying to think like Tudgeman. So let me know what you think! Should I continue? Or should I scrap the whole thing as a 'miss'?  
  
R/R! You know you want to!  
  
*Karasuma*Firestorm*  
  
~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~  
  
Dananananananana dananananananana TUDGEMAN!  
  
Well, honestly, now, I don't fancy myself Batman, even if he does have the coolest theme music ever. I see myself more as a suave, debonair Bond type (Connery...or maybe Moore...definitely not Brosnan). I see myself as cool, collected Han Solo, esteemed pilot of the legendary Millennium Falcon, and friend to the coolest Wookiee in the galaxy. Or maybe as the mysterious leather-clad Neo, the chosen "One", master of the mysteries of the Matrix. Or how about Ethan Hunt? Quick-thinking, resourceful, agile, genius, lots of cool toys...and, no, I've changed my mind, Mission: Impossible has the coolest music ever.  
  
I hummed said theme to myself, skulking through the corridors on my way to Social Studies. Rumor had it that Mr. Dig was substituting, which meant we'd be doing something interesting. Perhaps another scavenger hunt, where I'd be paired with the lovely Miranda Sanchez yet again.  
  
Ah, Miranda. Such a feisty little chica. There were so many luscious ladies attending Hillridge Jr. High, but unfortunately, they were all immune to the powers of my mind, and lusted after the ultimately brainless Ethan Craft. But that was all well and good for now. In a few years, they would all hail my abilities as a super genius with undeniable sophisticate and charm, and I would be the one with hordes of babes at my very command. And Ethan Craft would pump my gas. Wait, no, I'd have a planet-friendly solar-powered car. He'd pour the cheese on my nachos.  
  
Mmm, yes, nachos.  
  
I slid into my seat, behind the lovely Miranda, and next to her chum Gordo. Gordo was one lucky man. He got to spend every day in the company of two of the school's most eligible bachelorettes, Miranda and the amazing Lizzie McGuire. And what was more, they actually wanted him to. The three of them had this incredible bond that even total strangers could recognize. Even I, with my above average intelligence, good looks, charm, and supernatural abilities, found myself wishing that I had the sort of relationship with another human that they had with each other.  
  
"Good morning to you, Gordo," I said.  
  
Gordo, surprisingly, didn't answer me. I know he didn't think me as weird as his other musketeers did, possibly because we shared the common ground of possessing Y chromosomes. In any case, we would occasionally chat in class, and he was never so rude as to ignore a simple greeting. Out of them, only Miranda might possible have the nerve, which is why I always liked Lizzie more.  
  
I glanced at my curly-haired chum, who was staring forlornly at the back of the neck of the person sitting in front of him -- which happened to be one Lizzie McGuire. My Spider sense was tingling. Why had this possibility never occurred to me before. Gordo...and Lizzie!  
  
I threw a pencil at his head.  
  
"Ow! Tudgeman! What'd you do that for?" he whined, rubbing his scalp.  
  
"You and I need to have a little man-to-man talk," I informed him as mysteriously as possible.  
  
He was looking at me like I was diseased. I was used to that look from people. "What? Why?"  
  
"Because I used to date her," I said smugly, nodding my head in Lizzie's direction. Gordo, ever the hormonal one, surged red and waved at me frantically, thinking it would shut me up.  
  
"Ssh! Keep this to yourself, okay?"  
  
"People! Can I have your attention?" Ah, our fearless leader, Mr. Dig, paced in front of his troops with determination and purpose. "Today we're going to pair off, you're going to pick a world leader --anyone, from any chapter in the book-- and make a poster with as much information as you can in the period."  
  
Lizzie and Miranda turned around, prepared to join in a group with Gordo. They did this all the time, but Gordo surprisingly --well, it was surprising to everyone BUT me, with my massive mental prowess-- turned to me. "Tudgeman," he proclaimed, thereby cementing our partnership. Lizzie and Miranda's jaws dropped in the most unladylike fashion, but I only smirked at them. I had won this round.  
  
We pushed our desks together. "Who do you want to work on?" I asked, knowing that my evasion would only annoy him further. I took a small amount of pride in knowing that I was the alpha male in this battle of wits. "Stalin, maybe? Or how about a French president?"  
  
"That's not important."  
  
"I beg to differ. It's worth a grade. And while my average is in no considerable jeopardy, I can't very well turn down a free A."  
  
"Grades don't matter right now. How did you know about me and Lizzie?"  
  
"Were you under the impression I was blind, Gordo, my chum? The way you look at her, you're clearly smitten."  
  
Gordo glanced over to where Lizzie and Miranda's desks were shoved together. They kept glancing at us furtively and whispering fiercely. I flashed them a smile and a roguish wink. I knew they were discussing my partner, but I was still on their minds, all the same.  
  
"Well, okay, maybe I am, yeah. So you, as a..." he hesitated here, "man, what's your advice?"  
  
"Not just as a man, but as the epitome of all men, and furthermore, as the object of your affection's ex-boyfriend. The first thing you have to realize in courting a fair maiden such as the Lady McGuire is that she's far smarter than you'll ever realize." Now it was I who glanced over at the beautiful blond, wistful, thinking of our brief time together, thinking about how much fun it had been and how sweet she was.  
  
But our saga had come to its inevitable conclusion -- she just couldn't keep up with the likes of one Lawrence Tudgeman III. I bore her no ill will. Ill will was reserved specifically for Kate Sanders, the bane of my, Lizzie's, Gordo's, Miranda's --well, everyone's existence, basically. But not to let myself get off topic.  
  
"Yeah, she's really smart, she just doesn't want anyone to know," Gordo said. "I don't know why."  
  
"Image, my dear Watson. Looking that good and being that smart? She's like a superwoman, and the world wouldn't know how to deal. So she keeps her true identity a secret, like Wonder Woman without spandex."  
  
"In a weird way, that actually makes sense," he said, shaking his head. I rolled my eyes at his shock. Of course it made sense. I was a genius! I disproved infinity! I knew all! "So what should I do?"  
  
"Well, the obvious course would be to tell her how you feel," I said.  
  
"I can't do that!" Poor boy looked panicked. "I mean, would you tell Veruca how you felt?"  
  
I was hanging from the ceiling, inches above the motion sensors, stealing a microchip, and the wire broke. I collapsed through the sensors, and was almost instantaneously captured by faceless men in matching suits who wanted my knowledge and then wanted me dead. "Pardon moi?"  
  
Gordo smirked at me. But I was no longer Ethan Hunt. I was...I was Keanu in Speed, not The Matrix. I was Hardball Keanu. I was lower than low. "You heard me," he said. "You and Veruca Albano. Don't think I didn't notice how you two were behaving around each other at the murder mystery party. I was on a fact finding mission."  
  
The man was Lex freaking Luthor. "I bow my head to you, worthy adversary. You are truly a force to be reckoned with."  
  
"Okay, I'm thinking that maybe you and I strike a deal," Gordo said. "We'll help each other out as much as possible with Veruca and Lizzie. Okay?"  
  
"You make an interesting proposition." I tapped my chin, lost in thought. An alliance with Gordo to win the love of the sweet Veruca? Intriguing. I extended my hand. "Sir, I believe we have a deal."  
  
"Excellent. Now, on to more pressing matters. French president, or Stalin?" 


End file.
